Install Me A Better Memory
by Golden Lioness-Goldie
Summary: Russia remembers things he wishes he didn't, and America comes to help him install some better memories. Then, they realize that a lot of their memories are the same. Takes place in about 2020 or so, slight AU. Inspired by VandettA Cosplay's CMV 'Uninstall", and all historical inaccuracies are 100% on purpose!
1. Dark Memories

**A/N:: I DO NOT know where this came from...But it is a oneshot for now...If people like it, I may continue it as a story (and up the rating while I'm at it XD). Comment freely! :3 Kinda proof I'm not dead, just sucked int another fandom. A translation is at the bottom.**

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><p>Russia glared out of his window, watching as snow fell to the already snow-covered ground. His solid stance and stone-still face didn't betray the slightest hint of his true emotions, but the raging inner turmoil that the tall Northern country was experiencing burned deep within his violet eyes. His left hand gripped the deep red velvert curtain, holding it away from the window. Russia's every muscle was controlled, held in check with the type of control a country could only attain after thousands of years of experience.<p>

Outside the window, in the snow, a menacing form larger even than Russia's 182 centimeters of height. It floated in a flurry of snow, and Russia betrayed the slightest hint of a frown. Then, the tall, silver-blonde haired country turned from the window, dropped the curtain and turned up the heater temperature.

"взрыв генеральный Зима...*"

General Winter had arrived. And Russia wasn't pleased. He dropped his stone-cold expression, a tired frown appearing on his face. A furrow deepened between his brows, and for once, Russia was glad he was alone. He knew that he looked old. Old, tired. Worn out. He was over 5,000 years old, and it showed. Not in his face, no. His face would never look older than perhaps twenty at the most, but his eyes spoke of the depth of despair that was his history.

Mongolia and his Golden Horde. The rise of the Tsars, and their fall. Bloody Sunday, which he was caught in. The final, crushing proof of his sweet Anastasia's death.

There was more. An invasion by Japan, General Winter's constant barrage of wind and ice and snow. The Cold War against America. Russia was old, and far more weathered that even China could be. China's history was nothing to Russia's if measured in the sheer magnitude of spilt blood. He and America had delivered bleeding injuries to each other on more than one occasion during the Cold War.

_"Commie bastard!"_

_"Capitalist whore!"_

_"Red bitch"_

_"Capitalistic pig!"_

_"Murderer!"_

_"You will not win this, Amerikan scum!"_

Old insults rang in his head, causing him to clap both hands to his temples.

_"You're a nothing, little one. Nothing to me. You should be pleased with your treatment."_

Mongolia's words, thousands of years old, echoed after the Cold War insults. The memory of the whip striking him after that phrase sliced into him, the old scars on his back throbbing with a near-forgotten pain.

"NYET!" Russia's gloved hands curled into his hair. He knew he looked insane, crazed, nearly ripping his hair from his head. He didn't even notice his door open. A soft voice, uncharacteristically cautious, wove its way through his disastrous memories.

"Ivan? Ivan, what is-?"

He had crumpled to his knees when the first snatch of memory hit him. Now strong arms encircled Russia's broad shoulders, black-gloved hands prying larger ones from his hair. His nose was buried in sweet-smelling leather, the voice's lips brushing his hair.

"Ivan...Vanya, you're all right. I'm here, Vanya."

Russia gripped the leather jacket of the voice's owner. "S-sunflower..."

Plump, slightly moist lips brushed against his forehead. "S'okay, Ivan. We'll make them go away, I promise. I do."

"Nnn...nyet...they'll come b-back like always, d-da." He shook violently in his lover's arms, bloody memories splashed across his mind.

"Tell me what you remember, Vanya. I'll help you."

"Nyet, nyet..."

A sigh. "Vanya, you know you have to tell me eventually. I hate seeing you like this."

Russia lifted his tear-stained face, gazing into the eyes of his love. "R-really?"

The arms tightened, and a bright chuckle reached Russia's ears. "Well, _duh_! You're supposed to be the strong one, and I'm not the dominant one in this relationship. I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't love you."

Russia smiled then, stealing a quick kiss. "Da, you are right. I-I guess I'll start with Mongolia..."

His love smiled. "Okay, but you need to get warmer first."

Russia found himself being led to a nearby couch, a blanket wrapped around the two of them, and the golden warmth of his love snuggling his way into Russia's chest. A single piece of golden hair, flipped upward, tickled Russia's nose momentarily before the owner of the hair settled his head under Ivan's chin.

"Start from the beginning, Vanya."

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><p><strong>AN:: Shall I continue? I want guesses on who Russia's lover is (Though I kinda made it a bit obvious)! **

***взрыв генеральный Зима-Blast General Winter...**

**Vanya-diminutive/nickname form of Russian name Ivan (pronounced Ee-vahn)**

**Nyet-No**

**Da-Yes**

**WTF am I doing, if you're reading this you probably know most of that XD If you don't know something, ask me and I'll let you know! Also, any Russian speakers out there, I know I'm butchering your language. I am. Don't kill me, just a nice correction for my own education. **


	2. Mongolia

**A/N: Thank you to my 4 reviewers! Yes, those of you who guessed America, you are absolutely correct! I got some interesting guesses though, Lithuania and, interestingly, Belgium being two of them. I never thought of putting Russia and Belgium together. XD ANYWHORE, Chapter 2! I think I'll go on this until I stop getting reviews...SO REVIEW or I will personally come find you with my pipe, da. -cosplays Russia**

**Nah, just kidding. But I'd love a few reviews! I'm gonna put America as the second character and go name my chapters now. I also kinda worked out a plot. *le gasp***

**Anywhore, enjoy!**

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><p>"It started on December Twelfth in the year 1237. Mongolia-and his Golden Horde army-were unstoppable. This was back when my sisters and I still lived together. Belarus was just a baby, and I was physically only about ten. Ukraine was the eldest and, collectively, we were were called the Rus', da. Mongolia invaded Europe starting from somewhere near my modern city of Vladivostok. He was smart enough to do so during a very dry year, when General Winter was asleep and I could not call him."<p>

"Dude, that was a long time ago...Where was I?"

Russia frowned. "I do not know. I was occupied with myself and most likely you were not yet born."

"Oh right, I wasn't born until the 1500's. Keep going."

"Anyway, he invaded and I was too young to be able to defend myself. I had always relied on General Winter before, but Mongolia's Golden Horde moved so fast I didn't have time for them to be caught by him. They found my sisters and I hiding in a forest. Mongolia sent my sisters to new homes under his top two commanders, giving them the names Belarus and Ukraine. He added the -sia to my name to make me no longer Rus', but Russia."

"I never knew that. I just thought you were always called Russia."

"Nyet, at one time I was Kievan Rus', at another just Rus', and then Russia, Imperial Russia, the USSR and now the Russian Federation. But that is not important to the story..."

"Sorry."

Russia cleared his throat. He was about to speak of things no one else had heard from him, and he was about to speak them to a country he had once considered is worst enemy. Still, the sight of America's sun-bright smile and the feel of his warm body heating Russia's own helped the still-shaken power regain his nerve. He paused to bury his nose in America's hair, smiling at the sweet scent of roses, America's national flower.

"After Mongolia separated me from my sisters, the first thing he did after taking me back to his house was to go conquer Poland and Hungary. One thing he did do right was fend of Prussia and his Teutonic Knights, which were actually a far greater danger to me since I was so young."

Russia sighed and ran a hand idly through America's hair. "He took care of me fairly well at his house, and let me keep my religion, industry and language, but when I did things wrong, he would punish me and, in those days, the most mild punishment for me was often a whipping."

America looked unimpressed, but he kept his voice gentle in deference to his obviously-shaken lover. "When I did something bad, England would use a whip. It was common."

"Da," said Russia, quirking one eyebrow upward. "But Mongolia used it for such things as a dropped dish or a stained shirt. More often, he would use a whip when a scolding would have worked just as well. He may have been relatively kind as invaders go, but he was still a cruel master."

America shivered as Russia's voice lost its contrived kiddy tone, deepening and roughening in both the way that sent pleasant shivers up America's spine, and the way that sent unpleasant ones _down _it.

"Often," Russia growled, "He would punish me for a failed crop by having me _service_"-and here Russia's eyes narrowed to violet slits- "his _entire army._"

A fire burned deep in Russia's eyes, an angry, blackened violet fire that burned anew after centuries as mere purple embers. "My throat would be sore for _days _on _end _after he let me stop. Sometimes it was so bad that I couldn't even speak."

America, for once, kept silent, deep blue eyes wide with horror. He'd never heard something like _that_ from Russia, though it certainly explained why Russia hated to do..._that_ to America. America tried to remember to never ask Russia for one again.

Russia continued, the fire burning so bright in his eyes that a haze of violet appeared to glow around him. "I _cannot_ describe how _much _I hated Mongolia at those times, Amerika. That wasn't even his worst punishment. I was a slow-growing country, and after about 200 years under Mongolia's rule, I had only grown to the physical stature of a fifteen-year-old. Mongolia was sick of it, so he waited until another season of crops failed. Then, he took me into his office, locked the door, and-"

America clapped a hand over Russia's mouth. He didn't want to hear that at all, but Russia just yanked America's hand away (after a bit of effort).

"You told me you would listen, da?"

America nodded. "Yeah, I just...I hadn't expected anything that...awful...to have happened to you, dude." He winced the second the familiar slang left his mouth. _Shit. _He knew Russia wasn't a fan of being called 'dude', but sometimes it just slipped out.

Luckily for America, Russia was (unfortunately for him) too absorbed into his memories to notice. "Well, I suppose you can guess what he did, da?"

"It's why you never let me top, right?"

"Da." Russi went momentarily silent. Then, a quick intake of breath. "It was the most painful, awful experience of my life. He didn't even try to make me happy. He seemed to take his pleasure from my screams of pain, my agonized moans and endless tears. Eventually, I couldn't hande the pain. I blacked out, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in my own bed, so sore that it would be nearly three days before I left my bed on my own."

"Mongolia spilled far too much of my blood. He couldn't keep himself away after that, either. He kept coming back for more."

Russia's hand, the one that wasn't tangled in America's hair, reached up to clutch the tri-barred golden cross he wore under his coat. "I still am not sure how I survived."

America snuggled closer to Russia. "However you did it, I'm glad you did."

They shared a kiss before Russia continued his tale.

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><p><strong>AN: Te gusta? (I think that means 'do you like?') Poor Russia. Next chapter: Rise of Russia. It gets intensely gory next chapter (if I can write it) so BE WARNED! :D Thank you for reading and taking time out of your day! I would love reviews! (Flames will be used to stoke the fireplace of my imagination. Flamers will be subjected to Russian rage.)**

**The tri-barred cross I mentioned Russia wearing is the symbol of Russia's highly common Eastern orthodox Christian religion. Over 50% of Russia's population follows this religion, which is quite old, and I would picture Russia as being part of this religion (though not neccesarily actively practicing). I don't intend to offend anyone, and I write about the cross and Russia's potential religion with the utmost respect.**


	3. Rise of Russia

**__A/N: This didn't quite turn out the way I wanted, but I hope you all like it anyway! I'm asking advice of my America on how America would react to things that happen in my chapters. Also, to my anonymous reviewer: Yes, Russia was technically called Kievan Rus' until it became Imperial Russia, but the common name for the country was just Russia since early in the Mongolian/Tartar occupation. That is, in Southern Europe. It was either Rome or Gaul which coined the term Russia, I can't remember which. :) **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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><p>Russia tried to prepare himself to tell the story about Mongolia, but he knew that there was no possible way to sugarcoat it. He had to face the memories.<p>

"Mongolia took advantage of me for the next hundred or so years. Eventually, I grew tall and strong, similar to how I am now."

"Only similar?" asked America. "How were you different?"

Russia's eyes grew dark again, and his voice gained that deliciously evil, growling undertone. " I was weak. In my mind, I was weak. I didn't see how tall I was, how strong I could be. I didn't notice that when before it had taken me all day to plow one field, I could plow three and plant them, too, da. I didn't see that I was no longer a child, that I didn't have to submit."

"Then how the hell did you figure out you could get rid of him?"

Russia grinned, a feral, evil grin. "I was told to go to his office, and when I did, I realized that, though he was standing in the position of authority, I was taller than him."

_"Now then, Russia, you know what to do."_

The last command Mongolia gave Russia echoed through his mind, and his ancient answer chased its fading imprint.

_"Nyet."_

"I destroyed him. I hit him first, and he rolled us both through the window. He was a very advanced country, and he had things like plumbing. We happened to land in his garden, which I had been required to plant, water and harvest for centuries. I grabbed the water spigot, pulling it off its secondary pipe. He was so small, so much weaker than me."

Purple fire burned in Russia's eyes again, the haze of blackened violet again coating his body like a cloak. His grip on America, so gentle before, became suddenly uncomfortable as his arm curled around America's shoulders, his hand tightening on America's arm. He looked slightly crazed, teeth bared in a wild grin.

"I attacked him without a second thought. I hit him with the pipe, da, so many times. But I would not stop. I felt General Winter there, waiting for my call, for the first time in three hundred years. I skinned Mongolia alive, froze him to the wall of his house with General Winter's help, and returned to him all the displeasures and beatings and injustices he had given me. I destroyed him body, soul and mind."

Russia's eyes gleamed blackened violet. "His blood was spilled as much has mine had been, and then a hundred times over that. I stained the border red. I forced Mongolia from my lands, I took control back. I knew I could not run my country openly, that I needed someone else on the throne. I crowned Mikhail of Tver as my Tsar, for he was the first to come across me as I bled Mongolia dry, da."

America was frozen. Did he want to get up? He had to stay where he was...but he couldn't move even if he decided to. He gaped openly, his expression similar to that of a fish out of water, blankly opening and closing his mouth. Completely speechless, trying to comprehend what he'd just been told. he couldn't do it. He thought he'd seen awful things, but nothing compared to Russia. Russia was a man from another era, quite literally. America was born in a still-developing but far kinder world. He'd never imagined that anyone, even Russia, could so violently react against an invader. He shivered openly, realizing with a sliver of terror that Russia wasn't finished.

"I remember ripping his skin from his body, wielding the pipe until I had crushed all his bones. I remember how loudly he screamed when I called General Winter, and impaled Mongolia against the wall on a spear of ice. I can still hear him begging for my mercy, da." The memory of Mongolia's screams echoed.

_"No-AAAAIIIIIEEEEEEGGGHHH! Please, I beg of you, stop! STOP! Let me go-NO! NOOOO!"_

"It was amazing to me," said Russia, "That I did not fully kill him. I am still not sure why I didn't simply crush his skull and get it over with, da. Maybe I wished for him to live humilated for his defeat, and maybe I was simply inexperienced." He smiled again, but sadly and no longer crazed. "Whatever the reason, I used more force on Mongolia than any other conflict since. Even those I killed in war were destroyed swifter and less painfully than Mongolia."

America tried to stop the images from entering his mind, of a Mongolia beaten, bleeding and impaled upon ice. He couldn't do it, he couldn't even loosen Russia's grip on his shoulder. "I-Ivan..."

"Shto? _Oh, _I am hurting you!" He released America's arm. "I am sorry, Fredka...These are hard memories to relive."

"I-I...I didn't know it had been so-"

"Terrible?"

America shook his head. He didn't know whether he was saddened, disgusted, frightened or all three by Russia's retelling of his dark past.

"I don't actually know, man. I don't know how that could happen-"

"You were born in a kinder era, my Fredka." He sounded almost sad now, his voice softening to just above a whisper. "A kinder, more civilized era. You grew up loved and cared for, smothered by affection even. You've existed, through your few hundred years, with more conflicts than many others like us."

America stared at Russia. He was...emotional, America realized. Not that Russia hadn't gotten emotional around him before. They had been together for years now, after all. Still, America had never seen Russia so...no, emotional wasn't the right word. Reflective. Ha. Yeah, that one.

"Even with those conflicts, you've still managed to come out of them all. Relatively unscathed, too, at least mentally. I know you have your fair share of scars."

"You tend to get those when you're a superpower."

Russia smiled sweetly at America. "Da, my sunflower. You grow up and gain scars as you gain experience. Do you remember the first time we met?"

"You aimed a gun at my head, of course I do!"

**_1830's_**

"Booooooossss! We're like so totally gonna kick ass on this expedition!" America yelled, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. His new glasses (he'd named them Texas, after his new territory) slid halfway down his nose.

"Calm down, Alfred. You're getting to go on this trip solely because our country cannot move forward unless you have physically been to the places we intend to claim. Otherwise I would make sure we kept you here."

"Aw, come on, sir! It's not like there's anything to be afraid of!"

"Savages aren't dangerous? Pray tell me when you decided that."

"Weeeelll...Okay, so the Indians who live out there _might _be a little dangerous, but we can take'em. We have guns and all those reds have is bows and arrows."

"Overconfidence will be the death of us-because it's going to kill you!"

Ameria grinned and saluted (since the thumbs-up hadn't yet been invented). "I'm a nation, boss! Only another nation could kill me, and that's always gonna be impossible because I'm the hero!"

His boss sighed. "Just get the troop over to the West coast without getting anyone killed."

"You got it!" said America. "Say, d'you think I'll meet any other countries?"

His boss frowned. "I certainly hope not. Any other country claiming the area could try to force you out."

"Pssh, I'll be fine!" America bolted out of the Oval Office, shouting for a fresh horse so he could get going.

Exactly ten weeks later, America and his troop of men had forded a river into Oregon Territory, as America named it. America had pulled the name out of nowhere, but the men trusted him to know what he was naming. This would literally become his country, after all. Both the men and the horses were sleeping soundly at night, so America, who needed far less sleep than his men, stood watch for five nights, got his fill of sleep for two, and kept up a pattern. Still, he was as happy to sleep as much as his men were; he may not have needed much sleep, but he enjoyed it immensely.

"Okay, men! We've been goddamn lucky not to run into any red men so far. We haven't seen even a glimpse of other people since Independence. We gotta keep it up! Manifest Destiny depends on it!"

The men grumbled slightly since most of them couldn't keep up with their energetic young leader. The rumors went that Commander Alfred was fifteen at the least, with the maximum estimate being nineteen. None of them knew he was literally the U.S. of A. itself. As they made their way up a hill, America spurred his horse ahead to it crest, hopped off and charged down the hill for no reason at all. Then, he stumbled, and the next thing he knew, he was looking up the barrel of a rifle pointed directly between is eyes.

"Что вы здесь делаете?"

"Huh?"

" Я спросил, что вы здесь делаете. Вы слишком глупы, чтобы понимать русский язык? Возможно, вы родные?"

"Uh, hey, I can't understand whatever language you're speaking. D'you think you could move that gun away from my face?"

"Nyet." said the voice. It was a deep baritone voice, heavily accented. "You speak English, da? So you must be Amerikan, da?"

"I _am _America, man! Stop pointing your damn gun in my face!"

The man lowered the gun. He had silver-blond hair, oddly violet eyes and was extremely tall, clad in a coat and long white scarf despite the summer heat. "I am sorry, da. I did not realize." He stuck out a large, long-fingered hand clad in a black glove.

"I am Russia. Finally, I can meet the little country Amerika, da." The man's baritone voice had suddenly turned lighter, with a childish tone to it. He shook America's hand, a solid, almost bone-crushing handshake.

"What're you doing here?" questioned America, cautious of the warnings issued by his boss.

"Colonizing, da. Yourself?"

"Er...Surveying." He wasn't going to tell this gigantic Northern country that he was planning to colonize too.

"I see. I think we shall get along well, da."

_**Present Day**_

"We did get along well back then, didn't we?"

"Da. You were so adorable."

"Are you tellin' me I'm not adorable now? What the fuck dude?"

"Careful Fredka, your Yankee is showing. Of course you are. You were just younger."

America blushed. "Stoppit, dammit. I'm usually in New York anyway."

Russia smiled at his sunflower. He was feeling much better now that he'd told some of his darker memories. The happy one of his first meeting with America had also put him in a good mood.

"I think some hot chocolate would be nice, da?"

"Hell yeah!"

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><p><strong>AN: WHOOO! FAAAIIIL! Hahaha not really. It was hard to write the Mongolia memories the way I wanted to. it was just too much. Anywhore, I'm satisfied for now. Basically, I'm going into Russia and America's memories of each other and how they have solved (or created) issues in the world around them.**

**Translations:Что вы здесь делаете?-What are you doing here?**

** Я спросил, что вы здесь делаете. Вы слишком глупы, чтобы понимать русский язык? Возможно, вы родные?-I asked you what you are doing here. Are you too stupid to understand Russian? Perhaps you are a native?**

**Next chapter: A War Against Myself.**


	4. A War Against Myself

**A/N: You're all gonna hate me. But I hope the fluffiness in part of this chapter still keeps you reading. Enjoy!**

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><p>America had immediately bolted out of Russia's grasp at the mention of hot chocolate. Russia, being older and calmer, had gotten up slowly, carefully folding the blanket on the arm of the couch. His joints creaked slightly and he rolled his neck to loosen it, inwardly cursing his age. He sure didn't look old, but he felt it. In the morning, he'd roll out of bed and feel his knees pop, his shoulders would be stiff until he'd taken his shower, and he regularly needed Alfred's strong arms to help him release tension in his back. Mostly, the obvious ageing was in the morning or after he'd been sitting for a long time. He knew it was normal, but he often envied his Fredka's boundless energy. Not that he'd ever tell America that.<p>

"Vanyaaa, where's that mix?" America shouted from the kitchen. Russia heaved a deep sigh and shuffled tiredly to the kitchen to remind his sunflower that he made his hot chocolate by hand with milk, sugar and chocolate, not from a mix.

"You are so lazy sometimes, da. There should be a block of baker's chocolate somewhere in the pantry. Get me the sugar while you are at it," he said, opening a cupboard and bending to get the pot he used for hot chocolate. He straightened up with a slight groan. His damned back had locked up in the few seconds he was bent over. He tried to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling by rotating his spine and bending backward in a stretch, but the slight pain refused to dissipate.

"Черт подери..."

"Hm?" America turned around, bag of sugar in one hand, block of chocolate in the other. "Your back again?"

Russia nodded wordlessly, grimacing a bit as he stretched his arms over his head. "It locked for a second when I went for my cocoa pot. It's still painful, da."

America put the chocolate and sugar on a nearby granite counter. "C'mere, old man," he said. "Your hero here will fix it for ya!"

"M'not old, Fredka..." mumbled Russia as he let America envelop him in a bone-crushing hug. "I just feel old, d-OW!" he yelped as America hugged him just tight enough to clear up whatever was going on in his back.

"спасибо, Fredka. Much better, da." Russia smiled and poured the liter of milk into the pot. He turned his stove on high and added some sugar, stirring the pot gently.

"You should probably wait until the milk actually warms up, y'know..." America said as he smirked at Russia. "I'm much more interesting than a pot of boring dairy."

Russia turned his gaze from the pot of milk. "Da..." He gave a little giggle. "You're also much more attractive."

America blushed. "Psh. You're just saying that."

"Nyet, you are!"

"Prove it."

Russia looked incredulous. "I _love _you, Alfred. You _know _this, da. Why do you want me to prove it now? I've done it before!"

America pouted, tears pooling in his baby-blues. Back when he was a colony, he'd learned to make himself cry so he could get things he wanted from England. Russia knew this, but America knew his fake tears act was impossible for the Russian to ignore.

Sure enough, Russia's brows knit together and he engulfed America in a bearhug, Russian-style. America grinned against the fabric of Russia's coat, inhaling the scent that was solely Russia's, the scent of sunflowers, cold air and vodka. With a nice helping of manly musk on the side as well, he thought. Russia always smelled nice to him. Said country proceeded to tilt up America's face, not noticing the fake tears were gone, and kiss the slightly smaller country full on the mouth.

"Mhhm..." America managed to make the noise just before Russia licked his bottom lip, effectively doing two things: shutting America up and starting a langorous makeout session. Russia rarely kissed America like this, sweet and slow with attention to detail. More often kisses were quick and to the point, and regularly quite rough. When Russia kissed America with an intent to turn the blonde into a shuddering pile of goo, he kissed like he knew it could be their last one.

It never failed to make America much more compliant and agreeable.

They stood locked together in Russia's kitchen for almost two minutes, hardly noticing that the milk on the stove had begun to bubble; America, the perpetual teenager, was still ruled largely by his hormones, and Russia enjoyed taking advantage of America's one-track mind. Finally Russia pulled away to cath his breath and noticed the bubbling pot. Keeping one arm where it had been, around America, he broke off several pieces of chocolate with one hand, dropped them into the milk and added more sugar. America had gone quiet, the lingering langour of the rare kiss being the only thing keeping him from pulling Russia back around.

Well, that and a love of anything chocolate.

"Vanya?" America said, poking one of Russia's cheeks.

"Hm? Oh, Fredka, not now! I'm almost done with the cocoa!" Russia said, stirring the pot one-handed. America didn't reply, instead choosing the run his fingers up Russia's jaw, leaning his head close to kiss his way after his finger. Russia shuddered when America bit lightly on his earlobe, leaving light pink marks behind as he nibbled back towards Russia's mouth.

"You won't get your hot chocolate if you keep doing that, дорогой."

America smirked and licked his lips impishly. "And neither will you if you keep talking in that sexy commie language."

"..." America frowned, realizing his mistake.

"...I'm not communist anymore, Alfred."

Russia unwound his arm from America's middle and turned his back, busying himself with getting out a pair of mugs and making sure the chocolate was melted completely into the milk.

"Ivan, I know you're not Communist anymore. It just...popped out. That word."

"What, 'commie'?"

"Uh...yeah. Commie. That one."

" боже мой, Fredka, one would think you would be over that time period by now," Russia glanced back at the American as he placed the used pot in the sink and grabbed the large mugs of cocoa. The white one was slightly larger than the brown one, and Russia handed it to America, walking back towards the living room, the couch and the window. He sat back on the couch, carefully balanced his mug on his knees, and yanked off his gloves with his teeth.

America stood in the kitchen, slightly dumbfounded. _Great. One slip-up and I'm standing here all aroused with no way to fix it. _America glared southward. _At least Florida hasn't reacted to those goddamn hormonal hurricanes yet. But I'm all hot and bothered! Fuck! _He barged out of the kitchen and plopped down on the couch as close to Russia as the larger man would allow. Which wasn't as close as America wanted. He was a good three inches farther away from the Russian than he wanted to be, and he tried to scoot closer. Russia gave up and let him do it, mind racing.

_Strange, da, _He thought, sipping his cocoa. _Usually I don't mind him calling me a commie on accident. Sometimes I have him do it on purpose, after all. _The warmth of America's leg touched his own, but he ignored it. _I wonder what it is about today that has me so sensitive to that word. _He looked down as America laid his head on Russia's lap.

"Мне очень жаль, Vanya."

Russia had an urge to clean out his ears. If he hadn't seen America's lips move (and heard the horrendous accent), he woudn't have though his lover had spoken.

"что? Fredka? Was that...Russian?"

"Da." America smirked up at Russia. "You can't expect me to not pick something up. Plently of people who speak Russian live in America. I understand most languages to a degree, and I can speak a few. I'm far more fluent in Spanish than Russian, though."

"You're also with me a lot, da."

"True. Did I ever mention your accent turns me on?"

Russia smirked. "I do not know _vhat _you are talking about, _Frredka_." He deliberately let his accent thicken like it naturally would if he didn't try to control it, rolling the _r _in 'Fredka' around in his mouth like it was a delicious treat.

"Well it does. Anyway, why did you get so closed-up just now?"

Russia glanced at the mug of chocolate in his hands. "I don't know, da. But you have seemed like something was bugging you lately. Perhaps some part of me thought you were...having second thoughts."

America, whose hot chocolate had been placed on the coffee table, snorted loudly. "Pssh, no! I've been with you since 2013, you ass. I've had plenty of time to call it off, and did I? Fuck no."

"Then what is it that has been bothering you? You've been very jumpy, and I noticed you had a nightmare last night. One of the silent ones where you start stealing all the blankets rolling around."

"Why the fuck didn't you wake me up if you knew I was having a nightmare?"

"You stopped twisting around before I could act on the thought. It was nearly two in the morning!"

"What's that gotta do with it?"

"I was half-asleep myself, da." Russia gently lifted America's head off his lap and made Alfred sit up. The American leaned his head on Russia's shoulder, holding his cocoa mug and looking down at it.

"This could use a couple marshmallows. And whipped cream. I want whipped cream."

"What's bothering you, дорогой?"

"Nothing..."

Russia frowned. "Моя любовь, you are lying. Or at least stretching the truth, da. Something's been bugging you for a while now, and if I was wrong about it before, I don't have a guess as to what it is now."

America took a silent drink of his cooled cocoa. Russia did the same, watching his sunflower out of the corner of his eye. Finally, America sighed, placed the cup down, and turned to Russia.

"It's him."

**October 1860-New York General, New York, New York.**

America's mind was foggy, his limbs were heavy, his mouth dry as bone. He was immobile, thanks both to the bandages wrapped around his middle and the brown leather braces on his legs. He lay in the hospital bed, unable to do anything about the turmoil his country had been going through for the past few months. As he lay, silent and blank, a nurse walked in, trickled some water into his open mouth and gently tried to wake him.

"Mr. Jones," she whispered, "Mr. Jones, the President is here to see you."

America stirred slightly, blearily opening his normally electric blue eyes. They were clouded and vague, seeing things that were so far away he didn't even know if they were real.

"M-Mr. Lincoln," He ground out, his voice raspy with disuse. The man who had entered behind the nurse was tall and thin, dressed in a black suit and carrying a stovepipe hat in one hand. A beard didn't disguise his kind smile, and his brown eyes twinkled with some undefinable power.

"Relax, Alfred." Lincoln placed his hat on a nearby table and sat in the chair next to America's bed. " The Union has plenty of fight left in it, I see. "

America grinned slightly. "More fight every day, sir."

"How is your wound?"

"Sore, sir, but I get to have the stitches out in a week. It's more the mental toll right now."

"I see. Are you up to a talk?"

America managed a weak smile. "Sure, sir. I need to use my voice b'fore it dies on me, don't I?"

Lincoln smiled. "You most certainly do, Alfred. I have a question regarding the...Confederacy."

America flinched violently at the word.

"But if it hurts, we can do this another time, Alfred."

Alfred shook his head slightly. "N-no sir, you need to know."

"I would most certainly like to know how you got into this state, that's certain!" said Lincoln, anger flashing briefly in his eyes.

America close his eyes. "He came out of nowhere, sir. I'm minding my own business here at home in the city, and this guy who looked exactly like me just appeared at my door. His hair was reversed and his eyes were really dark, but he made me feel like I was looking in a mirror. A dirty mirror, but still a mirror."

"Who is this man?"

"The Confederacy. He must've been around for a while, hiding and growing stronger, sir, because he managed to do all this damage." America tried to gesture down at himself, hissing as his shoulder, which was bandaged, stretched.

"Don't injure yourself further, son!"

"M'fine..." America hissed out. "ANYWAY. He kinda stared at me for a second, and then he said 'Hey. I'm Avery.' Just, you know, casual. Next moment he was right next to me with a knife in my shoulder. He took Texas!"

America's eyes welled with tears. "And not just Texas! Virginia, North and South Carolina, Alabama, Louisiana-"

Lincoln put a hand over America's mouth-gently, but enough to shut him up. "Believe me, I'm well aware of which states chose to secede."

"Sorry. It's a nation thing..." America set his jaw, wishing he could move a little more. "At first I was really confused, and then I noticed my shoulder. I would've screamed if he hadn't grabbed my neck with his other hand."

It was true. The President could see the horrendously purpled bruises on America's neck, though they were already less vibrant than they had been.

"He tried to kill me, but...he couldn't, I mean, I'm here, yeah?" America frowned again. "This totally ripped me apart. I mean, look at me!" The bed creaked. "Honestly, sir, I'm surprised he didn't kill me and I'm afraid there might be no way to get my southern states back."

Lincoln put a hand on America's good shoulder. "We will. We will."

"How?"

"Perhaps you could try calling on some of your fellow nations for aid?"

"Ah...maybe...Could you write for me? I can't really move my writing hand..."

"Of course, Alfred!" Lincoln said, taking a pen from his pocket. "Who shall we write to?"

America thought hard for a moment. "England. Then France. Then...uh...Russia."

"Russia?"

"He...he could help. He's strong. He's been in parts of my territory before."

Lincoln coughed and pretended not to notice the blush spreading on his country's cheeks. He knew it was different for nations, though Alfred was certainly one of the more innocent.

"Very well. We'll write to England, France and Russia."

**Present Day**

"Avery? That is impossible."

"Naw," said America. "He's still alive, kinda. He's a part of me I'll never be able to destroy. All I can do is keep him from getting stronger."

"If he breaks free, I shall kill him, da."

America glared at Russia. "You would never."

"Why not?" Russia questioned. "It is not as if I haven't killed before." He began to grow dark-voiced again. "I must crush anyone who threatens making me happy. Avery prevents you from being happy, and so I am not happy. I should crush him like the insignificant bug he is, da."

America poked Russia hard in the side. "I said no, dammit. I can deal with him. He's never strong enough to break away. He doesn't even have the balls to try. Just drop it, I've been having some nightmares and inner arguments. That's all."

Russia put down his empty mug. and looked at his watch. "It's only ten o'clock in the morning. What do you want to do all day?"

America didn't question Russia changing subjects so fast. It was how the larger country dealt with anger. He would change the subject off his object, then release his anger via either hunting, fighting or sex.

"Uh...I have paperwork my boss faxed over to do, so I'll let you know by lunch."

"Da." Russia got up and exited the room. "I will be outside if you need me."

America waited for a few minutes. When he heard gunshots echoing off the walls of the house, he peeked out the window. Sure enough, his Eurasian lover was holding a shotgun and taking aim at a flock of birds. He watched Russia bring down a large bird, then left to do his paperwork.

* * *

><p>That night, Russia worked so hard to please his American that he barely avoided collapsing on top of him. Still, even all his hard work couldn't stop America's memories from returning.<p>

Across the Atlantic, a group of Alabama teenagers hoisted the Confederate flag as the Stars and Stripes burned behind them. Thirty miles out of Moscow, a blond American screamed in the arms of his Russian lover, who tried everyhing he knew to stop nightmares.

They failed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: CLIFFHANGER! Yes, I am a bitch sometimes. Please don't hate me and don't worry, Alfred will be okay. He has Ivan after all. Please review! Thank you! **

**Черт подери-God damn it**

**спасибо-Thank you**

**дорогой-Dear**

**боже мой-My God**

**Мне очень жаль-I'm sorry**

**что-What**

**Моя любовь-My love**

**Whew! Lot of translations in this chapter XD Next Chapter: Past Shadow, Present Nightmare**


	5. Past Shadow, Present Nightmare

**A/N: Change of writing here! Nothing special, but from now on Russia and America will be called Russia and America only occasionally. It's a much more personal story now. **

**Also, people have been bugging me about historical inaccuracies. To clear this up: I am aware that Texas was not a state until the 1840's. It became a territory in 1837. This means that during the flashback two chapters ago, Alfred would have had his glasses. I'm also aware of the Russian-American Anti-Colonization Agreement. For my purposes I ignored it (Creative leeway). Finally, the American Civil War did indeed begin in 1861, not 1860, but the Secessionists were active and occasionally violent as early as March 1860. If you have any question about my historical references (or lack thereof) please ask me! :D Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Ivan tried to shake Alfred awake, but the blonde merely continued to writhe as if in pain. He whispered comforting words in both Russian and English, then began praying under his breath. Finally, after minutes that seemed like hours, Ivan resorted to holding Alfred tightly to his chest and trying to calm his heartbeat, as if Alfred would calm with it.<p>

"Oh, my love, I wish you could tell me what was wrong," Ivan whispered, holding Alfred close. Silent tears streamed down the American's cheeks. Ivan stared dully at the clock on the nightstand-3:00 AM. He didn't sleep well as it was, but being concerned-even frightened-for his Alfred made sleep a distant impossibility. He reached for the phone at their shared bedside, running through the numbers of his and Alfred's allies. England instantly came to mind. He'd cared for Alfred when he was a child, so surely he'd know how to calm Alfred's nightmares. He dialed quickly and put the phone on speaker, returning his arm to its place around Alfred, who had started shaking slightly. To his surprise he heard a commotion on the other line.

"-No, Francis you bloody-OUCH! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Frog?"

"Answering the telephone, mon Angleterre. Bonjour!"

Ivan was confused. "Er...hello, France. This is Russia, da."

"Ah, mon ami, why are you calling?"

"Is England available, France? I had a rather urgent question for him..."

"Don't bloody talk on the phone right now, you git! I'll call Russia back! Tell him it's not a good t-"

France butted into the middle of England's rant.

"Unfortunatly, mon ami, we are currently making l'amour, and as such, mon Angleterre Arthur is unavailable because his vital regions are being invaded, onhonhonhon!"

Ivan cringed. So that was why England had screamed 'ouch'. "I did not need to know that, France, but thank you. Please to have him call back as soon as possible, da?"

France's voice was smug, though Ivan could still hear England's protests. "Of course, I shall!" He hung up. Ivan felt a little sick, because the LAST thing he wanted to picture was France and England in bed together. Ugh. He thought of who else to call, and at first came up blank. Then he remembered. Alfred had a brother, didn't he? A twin? Canada, yes, that was it. He tried to remember Canada's number, but his mind was blank on the issue.

Ivan's mind drifted to a conversation he'd had with his sister Yekaterina some time ago. It had almost slipped his mind, but he distinctly remembered her saying that many Ukrainians were emigrating to Canada, and she had many Canadians visiting her. He called her immediately, hoping she wasn't yet asleep. To his relief, she answered, sounding slightly sleepy.

"Hello? This is Ukraine." His dear sister still didn't have caller ID. It was an endearing trait of hers, like she wanted to be surprised.

"Sistra, it's me."

"O-oh! Ivan! What is wrong?"

His sister was so good at reading his emotions quickly. A talent of hers.

"It's Alfred. He's having terrible nightmares, I can't wake him up. I was wondering if you knew how to reach his brother-or had any ideas for halting night terrors."

"Oh, Vanya, I'm so sorry! Poor Amerika! I do remember how to reach Matvey, but how is your Fredka?"

"Not well, he has been shaking for the past few minutes. I cannot sleep, I am so worried about him."

"Did you try a cold shower?"

"Da, but he woke only long enough to curl in a corner of the bath."

"What else did you try, brother?"

"Everything, Yekaterina! I tried holding him, water, ice on his forehead, I shook him and I called his name! Sistra, I started praying to God for him to wake, but nothing has worked!"

"Oh my, Ivan. This is terrible! Yes, I will give you his brother's number. Remember it!"

"Say it twice for me please, Sistra?"

She said the number, then repeated it. Ivan thanked her and hung up, then hurriedly dialed Canada's phone number. It rang for almost a minute, which worried the Russian until he remembered that the call had an entire ocean to cross. Finally, it was picked up. The voice on the other line sounded exactly like Alfred's, only softer and with a slight lilt to some of the vowels, along with a hint of a French accent.

"Mm...'allo?"

"Hello, Canada? This is Russia."

"O-oh! H-hello, eh! W-w-what can I do for you?"

"I'm trying to wake up your brother, da. Do you know how to wake him from a nightmare?"

Canada, on the other side of the world, bit his lip. "Uuhm, have you tried singing?"

Ivan was perplexed. "Singing?"

"W-well, whenever we had nightmares, France and England would sing to us. We'd calm down easily, eh. Alfred always liked the more forceful melodies that England would sing. Have you tried that?"

"No, I have not. I shall do that now! Thank you so much, Canada! I will not forget this from you, da!" He hung up. Canada stared at the receiver, brain whirring.

"Will he really remember? And while I'm at it, how did he remember my phone number, eh?"

* * *

><p>Ivan stared at the blond man curled next to him. What could he sing? A forceful melody? Russia had no idea. So, he decided to make it up. His voice was soft, but emotion shook every syllable as he began to sing.<p>

_"You are like_

_April sky_

_Sunrise in your eyes_

_Child of light,_

_Shining star_

_Fire in your heart..._

_Brightest day,_

_Melting snow_

_Breaking through my chill_

_I'm October, and you're April..."_

Alfred stopped shaking, his eyes snapping open. Ivan continued to sing, his voice growing stronger.

_"I am like _

_Frozen skies_

_On October nights_

_Darkest cloud, in the storm_

_Raining from my heart_

_Coldest snow_

_Deepest chill_

_Tearing down the street_

_I'm October, and you're April."_

Ivan fell silent, Alfred's sapphire-blue eyes glistening with leftover tears. They said nothing, simply staring at each other's faces. Ivan pulled his Fredka close, resting his chin on the American's head. He breathed deep, the scent of Alfred filling his nose. Alfred smelled of spring, of warm air and salty ocean, wild lands, impenetrable forests and fire, burning through even the heaviest rain. They stayed like that for several long moments, and finally Alfred pulled back to rub his eyes.

"Vanya..."

"Da?"

"Thank you."

Ivan smiled. "I could not sleep when I knew you were not sleeping well. It is hard for me to see you hurting."

Alfred smiled. "Thank God for that."

Silence reigned again for a moment. Ivan looked at the clock again. By now it was 4:00 in the morning. Ivan moved to turn on the light, planning to get up, dress and go about his customary routine of a cup of tea, a quick workout and then paperwork, but Alfred grabbed his arm, the American's unnatural strength easily halting the movement of Ivan's arm.

"Stay."

"что?

"Sleep in for once. Please?"

Ivan looked down at Alfred. "Okay. I will stay." He settled back into bed, curling an arm around Alfred.

"Goddamn workaholic..." Alfred griped.

"Da, but it is harder for me to keep my country under control than it is for you."

Alfred grinned. "Bullshit. You just don't appreciate my epic paperwork skills."

"Perhaps not, Fredka, but I don't classify handing the work off to an alien skills."

"Don't diss Tony!"

"I'm not."

Alfred puffed his cheeks childishly and blew a stream of air at Ivan. The Russian merely chuckled and gave Alfred peck on the cheek.

"I give you two hours, and then you either let me get up or you tell me what your nightmare was."

Alfred shoved his head into the rook of Ivan's neck, ignoring, as he always did, the scars that scattered on his lover's otherwise pale skin. He did lick one, just to see Ivan's reaction. Predictably, he shuddered and closed his eyes. Alfred was satisfied for the moment, and he curled up in his Vanya's arms.

He dreaded waking up again and telling Ivan about his dreams-his dreams of burning alive.

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>**/N: Fuck, I'm trying to please you all. I wanted this chapter out now because I spent waay too long on it, yet it's still mediocre. However, it's also a cliffhanger (:D) so ****hahahaaaa I win!** **Hope you all liked!**

**Next Chapter: Fire In My Heart, Tear Me Apart**


	6. Fire in My Heart, Tear Me Apart

**A/N: GAH. I'm SO SORRY for the late update. School's been super hectic. I'm trying to get into an update schedule of every other week or so, but it's probably remaining erratic for the time being. **

**I'm totally teasing you all with this, by the way. SINCE THIS HAS A PLOT (le gasp) I'm writing it out slow cuz' I'm in this for the long haul, dude. \o/ -*speaks American* Anyway, before anyone mentions it, Russia's tsar during the American Civil War was indeed named Aleksander (alt. Alexander). In fact, he was Tsar Aleksander II. He was amazingly boss. XD**

**Also, there's lot's of yaoi references this chapter for my amazing friend (who gives me belief in my Russia rp-ing power) Lawlipop Ryuzaki! **

**(There's gonna be yaoi references every chapter since this _is _a Russia/America yaoi...but this chapter's for her.)**

**Anywhore, fucking way-too-long authors note, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Ivan lay silently in bed, Alfred's warm breath tickling the scars on Ivan's neck. He sighed deeply, nuzzling Alfred's hair a little as he held the American close.<p>

_It is funny, _he thought, _how less than 75 years ago, I wouldn't let Fredka within thirty thousand miles of me and here I am holding him close after waking him from night terrors. _The Russian smirked. _And to top it all off, we're naked. _

He kissed Alfred's forehead, eyelids fluttering in a futile attempt to avoid sleep.

**March 1861**

"So then, you have recieved a reply from Russia?"

"Yessir," said Alfred. He wore Union blue, carried a rifle with an attached bayonet, and blinked dull blue eyes that refused to sparkle. "I waited to open it until you arrived."

Abraham Lincoln gestured to Alfred to sit. Alfred opened the letter, unfolding it hastily.

_My dear Amerika, _it read, _I am most disheartened by your news of this strange adversary known as Avery. I hope you have healed well, for I hear that you are holding your own against him. It must have hurt to have Britain and France refuse to aid you in your fight. Though I understand your caution, I am curious as to why you sent a letter when a telegram would have reached me faster, but I assure you that this caused me no inconvenience. Since I return things in the form they were recieved, by the time you read this my ships will be blockading San Francisco Bay unless the ship captains can prove to my men that the ship supports the Union. I am at present on my way from Saint Petersburg to you in Washington DC. I should arrive approximately three days after this letter arrives. _

_My lord Tsar Aleksander has given me full control in this matter, and should you need my aid, we will crush this Avery with the might of the United States of Amerika and the Russian Empire._

_прощальный, Russia._

A signature under the formal closing read "Ivan Braginsky". The Russian's handwriting had the impossible precision of someone unused to writing in English. The Cyrillic lettering of the formal closing was written in a far more flowing script than Alfred knew the language itself sounded. Russian was a harsh language that matched both the landscape and the man who represented it.

Alfred dropped the letter to the desk that Lincoln sat in front of. "That's the scheme of things, sir. Russia will arrive in Washington tomorrow, as it took me two days to travel here from my post in Pennsylvania."

Lincoln's brow furrowed as he took in the nation. Eyes that were once a sparkling sapphire had dulled to a sad grayish blue. Hair that had been a shining golden sun color had lost all luster, now lank and unkempt, the color of dead grass. New frown lines had appeared at the corners of Alfred's mouth and eyes, with a visible furrow in his brow.

Alfred looked as broken as a man could be. Even his voice had lost all its shining clarity, becoming a monotone which never rose in any sort of emotion at all. Lincoln simply replied, "Very good. And you'll get on well?"

He was trying to avoid meeting Alfred's eyes.

"Yes, sir," said Alfred. "We have gotten on nicely in the past, and I hope this shall be no different."

Lincoln closed his eyes. That voice was so...blank. Dead. "I'll set up rooms for him. You know where you will sleep?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Alfred's eyes snapped open again. His nose was buried in the crook of Ivan's neck, his arm was thrown across Ivan's bare chest, and Ivan was...Ivan was...

Snoring lightly with his mouth open. Alfred sat up and smiled. His Russian was so cute when he slept. If it weren't for his sheer size, (as well as his numerous scars) Ivan would almost look innocent. Alfred glanced at the clock. 6:00. Wow, this had to be the latest Ivan had ever slept. Usually, the Russian was gone and his side of the bed cold by the time Alfred woke.

Despite stereotypes, the American generally woke up by 7:00, except on weekends. Then he could sleep pretty much all day-or at least he could before Ivan. Now, he'd be forcibly awakened by nine. Thankfully it was usually with a cup of coffee, unless Ivan was feeling particularly uncharitable.

"Mmmm..Fredka?" yawned Ivan. His eyes flickered open. "Vhat time is it?" The man's accent was ridiculously obvious when he was half-awake. At least this time he was actually speaking English. Alfred chuckled a bit when he thought of how Ivan would often speak in Russian when he was extremely tired. He temporarily forgot all the English he'd ever learned by about a quarter to midnight every day. He always remembered the right words to use when he had to, but sometimes he just couldn't stand not speaking his native language. Alfred hated the days when Ivan spoke nothing but Russian. The blonde could only ever understand about a third of what Ivan said.

Luckily for Alfred, (or unluckily, from his perspective) this wasn't a 100% Russian-language day.

"Alfred, time?" Ivan grumbled, blinking blearily and fumbling on the bedside table for a clock he couldn't see. Alfred hurriedly slipped Texas back onto his face.

"It's six in the mornin'. You slept in way longer than usual."

"Damn."

"Psh, what's that s'posed to mean? You should do this more often."

Ivan ran a hand through his hair. "Nyet, I have too much work to do."

Alfred kept silent, hoping his Vanya didn't remember the nightmares.

"Since we are both awake now, you will tell me about your nightmares, da?"

Mind-reading commie. "I don't want to."

Ivan frowned. "You are the one who told me bad things go away better if you talk about them to someone you love."

Alfred mentally facepalmed. He hadn't said anything close to that...okay maybe he'd said _something_ similar...but in a much more heroic way. Yeah. A shitload more heroic than that. "Fuck. Just fuck."

"Not right now, Fredka. I'm focusing on your mind this morning, not your body."

"Not what I fuckin' meant!"

"Oh, I know." Ivan smiled. Alfred huffed and got out of bed, opening his dresser and digging around for his favorite pair of boxers. They had Krabby Patty pictures all over them.

Ivan's grin widened as the American turned, his eyes locked on Alfred's round, tan ass. He wasn't being a perv. He was allowed to look at his own lover's ass.

"Stop staring at my butt, Ivan. Put some pants on."

"Do you have eyes in the back of your head that I never knew about?"

"Psh, no. I can tell when you're staring at me. Especially when it's my ass that's being stared at."

Ivan threw back the bedcovers and grabbed a pair of his plain black boxers, pulling them on hastily before taking his scarf from its hook and wrapping it securely about his neck.

"I tell you, Alfred, I can't try to understand what's going on if I do not know what your problem is. It relates to Avery, da?"

"I told you I don't wanna talk about it! Fuck!"

"But Fredka-" Alfred cut Ivan off with a negating swipe of his hand.

"I'm not gonna talk about it right now! Can't you just have one day- a _single fucking day- _where you can relax with me without one of us talking about issues? One day where we can just hang out? I mean, fuck! I can't do that with you! You're always stressed about something, or working!"

Ivan blinked incredulously. "I _do _just relax with you! I put off my work all the time for you!"

Alfred was in a rage, a complete turnaround from his regular morning self. "You don't stop! I try to tell you I don't wanna talk about something, I ask to relax with you, and you fucking start talking about work! I'm done with this shit, Ivan! I do well enough with work and you're so much more stressed than me! You're a fucking dick, you know that?"

Ivan felt his eyes involuntarily fill with tears. "Fredka-"

"NO!" Alfred screamed, his watering eyes threatening to spill over. "Just no! I'm fucking sick and tired of you and your 'we need to talk about this' shit! I didn't fuckin' bother you for months! Even when you would look out every window-_every single fucking window- _and swear under your breath! When you banged around the house like a bear and shot your fucking guns off every day! I didn't bother you until you were ready! You can't fucking tell me when I'm ready to talk!"

A single tear rolled off Ivan's face. Alfred didn't notice, instead continuing to rant.

"I mean the fuck is with you sometimes? You're so fucking emotional! I almost preferred when you hid everything from everyone!"

Large hands clenched around Alfred's upper arms. He looked up, shocked, and took in the sight of Ivan. The Russian stood with his eyes narrowed, their color darkened from violet to plum-black. The muscles in his arms were tense, and his chest heaved with his exertion of self-control. He was trying his best to keep his temper in check.

"Enough, Alfred."

"Iva-"

Hands tightened. "I said _enough, _Alfred." The Russian's voice was soft, for he was attempting to avoid a screaming, swearing fight that undoubtedly would devolve into an all-out brawl. He didn't want to wreck his house.

Alfred searched Ivan's eyes, looking for a hint of the Ivan he'd grown accustomed to, the Ivan who would wake him on a Saturday morning with a steaming cup of coffee and a kiss, the Ivan who regularly arrived home with a bouquet of sunflowers and roses. He saw only the Ivan he'd hated and fought, the Ivan who greeted him with a derisive Russian curse and often aimed guns at his head. The true, deliciously masculine voice which Ivan ususally hid was cold and hard, the voice of a man who had reached his limit and refused to give an inch. As Alfred's sapphire eyes searched Ivan's diamond-sharp, calculating gaze, he tried to stop the tears from falling. He didn't succeed, and as the sparkling drops rolled off his chin, he ignored the tight hands on his arms, leaning into Ivan with a sob.

"I-I can't! Not y-yet! I-I _want _to talk about it, but I just can't yet!"

Ivan looked down at Alfred. His blond hair tickled Ivan's chest, and the tears that Alfred was crying were warm, like the ocean off the coast of Florida. Ivan took a deep breath and removed his hands from Alfred's arms; they instantly came up to clutch at his scarf like the length of white cloth was a lifeline. Ivan lifted Alfred's face so that blue eyes met purple; his hand rested under the American's chin, holding the tearful gaze steady.

He spoke softly, as one would to a frightened animal. He no longer sounded menacing, merely sad. "Fredka, I know it's a hard thing for you. I have had my share of civil war, but not such as yours." He waited until the American, whose eyes had fallen to rest on one of the more violent scars Ivan bore, looked back up at him. "I understand you now. I did not realize I made my troubles obvious to you, since I was trying to hide them, da. I love you, and I have to respect you. After all, that is what we agreed, da? _Fom the beginning of our history to the end of time, I will defend you with all the forces I hold. I will be your full moon in the night, your food in famine, and your love in loneliness._"

Alfred smiled a little. "I helped you write that vow, Vanya. _In the cold I am your fire, in the night your moon and stars. I fight for you and with you, for better or worse, and our histories will chart a combined course._"

Ivan looked at his Alfred, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He remained silent, waiting for Alfred to finish.

"And I've decided. Neither of us are working today. We're gonna eat breakfast, go build snow armies and have a massive snowball fight. Then," and he poked Ivan's nose, "I'll tell you tomorrow. For now, I'll just tell you what I dreamed last night. OK?"

Ivan sighed. "Okay. What was so awful last night?"

Alfred looked down. "I was dreaming about being burned alive." His voice was a whisper. "Burned and ripped apart. Someone burned my flag yesterday. I have dreams like that when my flag is burned."

Ivan narrowed his eyes. "Is it time for us to return to your land?"

Alfred looked up at Ivan. "Only if my boss calls me. I don't want to spend more than six months trying to convince all the representatives of what to do."

"So, as agreed, we spend our remaining winter months here in my lands, and go to yours come January, da?"

"Right." Alfred grinned at Ivan, happy for the first time all day.

"What's for breakfast?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: FINITO! *O* (does happy dance) lol yep. I've broken the six-chapter mark. THIS IS A PERSONAL BEST. I thank all of you people who made it this far! *worships* Also, the rose-and-sunflowers reference is (obviously) about Russia's love for sunflowers, but also that the rose is America's national flower. **

**Next chapter: The Eagle in Flames **


	7. The Eagle In Flames

**A/N: Heeheehee. Sorry for the wait, school has been insane. XP You're all gonna hate me, but I hope it's worth it! Special lulz to Lawli! Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Following their early-morning spat, the two personifications had done exactly as the younger of the two wished. Ivan cooked <em>blini<em> and got fresh milk while Alfred fried eggs and bacon, and they ate in silence. Alfred had his coffee, and Ivan had his tea. Ivan read the daily Moscow newspaper and Alfred read his latest issue of Newsweek. They had dressed warmly and spent nearly three hours building snow forts. Alfred's fort kept falling down because he tried to make it taller than he was, and Ivan couldn't seem to get the snow to pack right. He was constantly distracted by the spectre of General Winter hovering on the edges of his consciousness. Eventually he gave up and used the trees for cover as he threw snowballs at America. The blond hit him with as many snowballs as struck his own body, and they eventually went inside, exhausted and not really agreeing on a tie.

"I still think I got you more."

"Haha, nyet, Fredka," laughed Ivan, "I hit you more."

"You're not gonna win if I can't win!"

America laughed with Ivan, stripping off his thick jacket, gloves and hat, hanging them on the convenient rack by the large fireplace, which was burning brightly. Ivan removed articles of clothing a second behind Alfred, until they were standing in little more than pants, shirts and socks, though Ivan's scarf remained snug in place. Alfred flopped onto the couch, snatching up the remote from the coffee table. He turned on the wall-mounted TV, flicked through a few channels, and gave up.

"I wanna watch a movie."

"Which one?" questioned Ivan, who was adding a couple of logs to the fire. "You have given me so many."

"I don't know, dude! Something awesome!"

"No horror films."

"But whyy?" whined Alfred. "They're so awesome!"

"Nyet. I do not wish to have you shaking and quivering against me. You're no fun when you're scared by fiction."

Alfred chose to ignore the sexual implications of Ivan's first sentence. "Then how about something not scary? Like..."The American debated for a minute, staring at the expansive case of movies under the TV. "Pirates of the Caribbean!"

Ivan sighed. "Really? You must have seen that a few thousand times by now."

"More than a few thousand."

"Mm." Rather than argue the point, Ivan decided to instead kiss Alfred, who responded favorably. An added arch in the spine, the movement of a hand from the couch arm to Ivan's hair, and all it took was a single second.

Ivan broke the kiss and transferred his attentions to the American's neck, nipping the skin lightly and making good use of his hands. He laid Alfred down on the couch, his hands on Alfred's torso. The blonde's shirt rode up, exposing his slender physique, and Ivan massaged his hands over the tan skin, Alfred's equal balance of smooth muscle and soft flesh delighting him at every touch. The blond moaned, forcing Ivan's head down to suck on his collarbone as the hand which wasn't tangled in Ivan's hair traveled south to the Russian's own back, scrabbling frantically for a hold on Ivan's shirt. Ivan speedily divested Alfred of his shirt with the grace of much practice, removing his own a moment later.

His scarf was in disarray, but still securely in place. Even for Alfred, the length of cloth rarely got removed during the day. Despite that, Alfred thought, it didn't detract from the Russian's sex appeal. It hid the worst of the scars on his neck, though a few of the larger ones which snaked their way across his shoulders were partially visible. Alfred didn't have a problem with Ivan's scars, but the thought of what had caused them almost made his stomach churn. His thoughts were wiped from his mind as Ivan licked a nipple, smiling when Alfred shuddered and moaned. He moved a hand up to grasp the little cowlick that Alfred called Nantucket, pulling on it. A hard bulge made itself known against Ivan's leg mere seconds later, the stimulation of the American's erogenous zone (which wasn't the cowlick itself, but rather, the skin it grew from) causing his hormones to go wild.

"Ah! Vanya!" Alfred moaned and bucked his hips up, earning himself another tug to Nantucket. Ivan shifted slightly to the right, and their groins met.

Alfred moaned at the sensation, Ivan hissing a stream of air through his teeth.

"_Ah...Моя любовь ..._"

Alfred didn't respond. He was too busy trying to undo two belts at the same time. Ivan caught Alfred's lips in another kiss, and attempted to help Alfred in freeing each other from confinement.

The second they got their pants undone, the telephone rang.

"_Shi-iit..._" hissed Alfred. "_Shut up, phone..._"

Ivan silenced Alfred by grinding his hips down on the American. "_Ignore it_."

Alfred arched and moaned. The message machine picked up the call. An angry female voice made its way to their ears, even through the haze of lust.

_"Alfred mother-fucking Franklin Jones, pick up the goddamned phone! It's me, Madison! You and your Russian need to drop whatever you're doing and get your asses back over here now!"_

Ivan and Alfred froze, thoughts of sex forgotten. The voice continued her tirade. _"-and don't even try to ignore this call, you bastard! Why didn't you mention that the Confederacy had a human personification? He just showed up in the White House and tried to impersonate you!"_

Alfred flipped Ivan off him so fast that the Russian smacked his head on the nearby windowsill. "Shitshitshitshitshit!"

Dazed, Ivan stood and glanced mournfully southward. "Wonderful."

Alfred was already jabbering into the phone. His English was so fast Ivan could hardly understand it, and the fact that Alfred had started speaking in his 'New York' accent wasn't helpful in the slightest. Upon hearing it, Ivan was instantly reminded of old mobster movies.

"-Whaddaya mean he just marched on in dere an' tried to impersonate me? He don't even look like me!"

Ivan's whole body went cold. Aside from being an instant bonerkill, he was now frightened for his lover's safety. He buckled his belt back up, rearranged his scarf and slipped his shirt back on. Doing up the buttons with hurried hands, he grabbed Alfred's shirt and watched as the blonde paced around the room. His voice had an unusually thick accent, and Ivan had only ever encountered it once before. It had been in 1861, during Alfred's Civil War.

He had gone to visit the American and had been shocked by the dry husk of a man he was-though he was a boy, really, back then. The only thing Ivan had liked had been the way Alfred spoke, how he slurred some vowels and forgot R's here and there. Of course, once he realized that it was due to the Confederacy's existence, he'd hated it. He didn't want that accent around. If it was showing up now-he could tell Alfred didn't even realize he was doing it-then this was bad. Not just bad, horrible. Sure, Alfred could do that accent along with a myriad of others whenever he wanted, just as Russia could change his accent from the Moscow variety he usually had to the Vladivostok version(which was highly influenced by Japanese), but only with warning.

"Alfred?" He tried to hand Alfred the shirt.

No response came other than a flapped hand in the universal symbol for "GTFO." So, Ivan got the fuck out and returned to their bedroom. Since he assumed their return to Alfred's territory was imminent, he began pulling clothes from the dresser. Yanking his suitcase from the closet along with Alfred's obnoxious stars-and-stripes suitcase, he folded in enough clothes for a couple of days, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, phone chargers, Alfred's iTouch, his own iPod, and a bottle of lubricant. Just in case. American brands were just deplorable quality.

Ivan even fished out the garment bag from the depths of Alfred's side of the closet, putting his good suit in it along with Alfred's. One never knew when an emergency meeting would be called, especially is a situation such as this.

He could still hear Alfred yelling into the phone from the front room. Packed, Ivan sat on the end of the bed, pinched his nose between the fingers of his left hand, and waited for the windowsill-induced headache to dissipate.

* * *

><p>"This is crap."<p>

"Calm down, Alik."

"No! This is crap! I hire th' best Secret Service agents in my whole damn house to find this bastard, an' he just walks right on in past my guys t' yap at my boss with his goddamn hick mouth!"

Ivan sighed. Alfred had hardly calmed down enough to hang up the phone and leave the house. Ivan actually considered slipping some sleeping pills into Alfred's Coke on the plane, just to shut him up.

"Alik, we will deal with this when we get there, da?"

"Heeelll no! I'm gonna whoop his sorry ass inta th' next century!"

"Alfed, I think you're overreacting. Listen to yourself."

"Whaddaya mean, listen to myself? I can't even hear my tunes over your voice!" The blonde had his iTouch in one ear. Ivan could hear the faintly tinny sound of 'I Will Always Love You' coming from the other speaker. He sighed and rubbed his temples again. Maybe he would slip those pills into Alfred's drink. And maybe he'd just jump out of the plane without a parachute. He'd already survived _that_ once.

"Let's just...get on the plane, da?"

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><p><strong>AN: Mwahahahaha. Well, the chapter title kinda has to be inferred, but whatever. Next one is more obvious. Although, will anyone read this now? I bet you all hate me. Also, sorry if my attempt at writing Alfred's Brooklyn/Jersey accent failed. XD R&R lovelies! **

**Translation:**

**Моя любовь-My love (you guys should know this by now.)**

**Next Chapter-Nation Mentality  
><strong>


	8. Nation Mentality

**A/N: I AM SO SORRY. I'll explain more at the end of the chapter. :D Enjoy!  
><strong>

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><p>Though the plane ride was normal by anyone else's standards, it was undeniably the worst plane ride of Ivan's life so far. Alfred couldn't calm down, he was constantly up and about and always talking in the obnoxious Brooklyn accent, which grew more pronounced by the minute. It was really not a good thing, this intense obsession with Avery. Finally sick and tired of the American's constant fidgeting after two hours, he slipped a bit of Sudafed into Alfred's coca-cola when the younger man went to the bathroom for what seemed like the millionth time. The amount of drugs in the soda was enough to kill any normal human. Alfred was lightly snoring with his head on Ivan's shoulder within twenty minutes.<p>

As a nation, he'd simply been knocked out. And why Sudafed? Because Ivan found it in Alfred's carry-on bag. Most likely it was left over from his last economic recovery. The blonde tended to intentionally knock himself out when he began recovering from a recession. Claimed it made his recovery speed up.

When Ivan thought about it, the problem was truly serious. Civil wars were always devastating to nations, but none more so than Alfred. His Civil War had caused more casualties to the blonde's people than both world wars and the Vietnam War combined. Entire towns had split down the middle, even a state. West Virginia should not have existed, and wouldn't have were it not for the Civil War. Ivan had never been able to guess during any civil wars he'd had if there was another version of himself out there. His wars had never been to the point where there was another one of him leading the charge. But Alfred...Alfred had been jumped by Avery before he even knew of the Southern state's secession.

Ivan considered what he knew of Avery. He'd rarely seen the 'evil twin' of America. And even when he did, it had been from a distance. He knew that unlike Alfred, whose eyes shone with sapphire fire, Avery's eyes glittered the sickly silvered color of an oil-slicked ocean, and while malice was visible in them, there was also intelligence. Avery had a spirit for freedom as strong as Alfred's own, but his ideals had no place in the world even in the 1860s. His hair was opposite of Alfred's, the little cowlick, which was Nantucket to Alfred, being Richmond to Avery. His hair was darker, though only by a shade or two. To further baffle Ivan as to how Alfred's security had missed him, Avery had always possessed a distinct Southern accent. Be it Texan or Carolinian or even Louisianian, Avery sounded distinctly Southern, or at least he did the two times Ivan was able to speak to him

Alfred's light snoring caused Ivan to chuckle softly as he was jostled from his thoughts. He kissed Alfred's head. An old woman across the aisle glared at him.

Even the fact that America's boss had signed a constitutional amendment legalizing gay marriage last year didn't stop people from being prejudiced. Russia had forced his last boss to sign a similar law just eight months ago. Still, for some reason, and particularly amongst older humans, the sight of two men or two women showing anything more than friendly affection was scandalous or immoral.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Ivan adjusted his scarf and looked restlessly out the window of the plane. They were flying over the Atlantic at the moment, and had been for at least two hours. They had boarded in Moscow and had since made stops in Poland, Germany and finally England, though they hadn't stayed long enough to say hello to any other nations. Besides, Poland and Germany wouldn't be all that happy to have seen Ivan. Though the last World War had been almost a hundred years ago, Germany, Poland and Prussia would probably never be comfortable in the same room as him.

"Sir," a flight attendant said, tapping him lightly, "How are you doing?" Ivan smiled a little at her.

"I am fine, thank you. Could we perhaps get a pillow? I'm afraid my shoulder is beginning to hurt." He gestured towards Alfred, crashed on said shoulder.

"Of course," she said.

Alfred snored on the pillow within five minutes. Ivan stared out the window at the endless ocean, hearing Alfred's even, calm breathing behind his head. He turned from the window and leaned down to Alfred, whispering in his lover's ear.

"Alik, I don't know if I ever told you how I fell in love with you."

Alfred grunted a little and shifted in his sleep. Ivan knew no one could hear him, so he started whispering to Alfred. It was the one tale he wouldn't have the courage to tell an awake, alert Alfred F. Jones.

"When you were small, I only met you once or twice. You were the most adorable little thing, and you reminded me of sunflowers. That was my first thought when Britain introduced you to the world, a little sunflower. The memory is very clear to me, da. Britain brought you in to a meeting we were having, just France, Britain, Prussia and myself. We were the powers of the time." Ivan smiled sadly. Those days were long gone, for all of these countries but himself. Britain was respected, as was France, but neither had the power of the seventeenth century. And Prussia lived in Germany's house and officially didn't exist. Ivan winced mentally and moved on.

"As I recall, Britain had dressed you in green. You were so tiny and cute...and then you lifted up the carriage that Britain brought you in with one hand and shook it, looking for a toy." He chuckled. "And you grew up into a nation so powerful that a carriage wouldn't even feel like a feather."

Alfred shoved his nose into Ivan's scarf. Ivan smiled a little and let his sleeping American breathe his scent. "I watched you grow. When you gained your independence, I was sure you'd do great things. No other colony had broken from Britain at that time. He was devastated. I probably fell for you when you first appeared as your own independent nation, but I didn't realize that."

He smiled at the memory of the brave young man who had defeated the all-powerful British Empire. "No, I knew I loved you just after your Civil War, when I saw how quick you recovered from it. How bright you still smiled." The plane shuddered as they hit a little turbulence.

"Even during the Cold War, when we thought we hated each other..." Ivan shuddered at the memories. "Even then, something in me wouldn't let me attack you. Something stopped me from wiping you off the face of the earth."

The plane speakers binged. "_Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. We will be arriving in JFK International Airport in approximately an hour."_

Ivan sighed and closed his eyes, slightly annoyed that he hadn't finished his story, and decided to wait for sleep to claim him and prepare him for the struggle ahead.

* * *

><p>Alfred had woken just before they had landed, growling unhappily when he realized Ivan had drugged him.<p>

"Bastard. I didn't need to be drugged like that."

"You were driving me insane."

"You coulda just told me to stop!"

Ivan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I did." The stretch armored vehicle which had picked them up at the airport was traveling towards the White House, and as they passed the Washington Memorial Alfred made a move to bow, a quick gesture of respect. Passing the Lincoln Memorial seconds later, Alfred shut his eyes and clasped his hands together on his knees in an attitude of prayer that Ivan rarely saw. Alfred whispered something under his breath, unclasped his hands and opened his eyes. The accent was less obvious than it had been, but it was still clearly 'New York'.

"Alfred, you'll be okay."

Alfred smiled at Ivan. "Madison will fix it."

Yes, Madison Blake, Alfred's first female President. She was in the second year of her first term, and was doing a better job than her predecessor ever could have. Alfred was at his highest economic level in twenty years, the number one economy in the world, and his vigor was such that he could even tire Ivan out.

"Da. She will." They pulled into the White House secure entrance, generally used only by the nations since they would be seen going the regular way, and it would be impossible to explain them away over the years since they didn't visibly age. Five Secret Service agents waited for them. One pressed his hand to his ear as they exited the vehicle, other hand carefully hiding his face so his lips couldn't be read. They were led directly to the Oval Office, where President Blake waited, feet up on her desk in her typical careless manner. She spotted them and bolted upward, the papers on her lap fluttering to the floor.

"Alfred!" She was a tiny woman, just five feet tall in her military boots, prone to wearing black and purple. She had cropped brown hair and eyes of a wise, piercing grey. She despised formal wear, though her occupation often required she wear it. Ivan knew that if Alfred wasn't as intelligent as he was, he would have fallen for her, all consequences be damned.

"Madam President!" He ran form Ivan to engulf his tiny President in a bearhug. She shoved him without effect.

"Get off, Alfred! I'm being squashed!" He released her and grinned.

"Whaddaya know," he said, accent still clear, "You're actually happy t' see me!"

"Of course I am you moron." She turned to Ivan. "Russia, I assume?"

She'd never met him in person. Ivan smiled gently and shook her hand. "A pity we must meet under these grave circumstances, da?"

"Indeed. Now, Alfred, here's what we know." She gestured to the chairs on the other side of her desk. They sat as she settled back into her chair. "Avery has reappeared somehow, and he managed to bluff his way through the Secret Service agents. Thankfully," she held up a hand before Alfred could speak, "He didn't hurt me. He wanted to deliver a message, he said."

Alfred started. "What message?"

For a second she frowned. "Uh...Mr. Russia," He blinked at her. "I can have the staff bring you some tea or coffee or...something..." She still wasn't sure how to react to him. Of course she knew of their relationship, but since it really wasn't politically official other than trade and military agreements, she couldn't risk national security.

Alfred took over. "He can stay, Maddie, I need him. Besides, I'll just tell him everything later."

She nodded, not willing to argue that point. "Your, er, counterpart..."She cleared her throat. "He told me you needed to know that you never won the war."

Those five words rang in the silence of the Oval Office. _You never won the war. _Alfred's eyes were wide. Ivan could only imagine what was running through his head.

_The war. War. You. You never won. The war. Never won. The war. You never._

**_You never won the war._**

Alfred couldn't breathe, his head began to pound and his eyes widened to a startling degree. "Th-th-"

"Alfred?" Ivan tried to grasp Alfred's hand, but missed as said hand flew to Alfred's head, tangling in his golden hair.

Ivan drew back, feeling the tinges of something he could almost have called fright-but the Russian Federation was never frightened, was he? He watched Alfred's eyes for any sign of danger-since he and Avery were technically the same country, the had a strange connection. Ivan thought it sickening.

Alfred shook in his seat. "Th-that...that bastard..." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "He's talking about the fact that I didn't kill him."

"Excuse me?" Alfred's president looked shocked. "You had a chance to kill him and you didn't take it?"

"What kind of a bastard do you take me for, Maddie?"

Ivan said nothing. He'd killed other nations before, such as Chechnya, but he wasn't about to remind Alfred of that.

"I don't, Alfred, but isn't it a sound tactic to take out any danger for good?"

He frowned. "I probably should have killed him, but what would that have done? Wiped out all the Southern states and all the humans who lived there? I would never be able to do that in good conscience, even if it ensured my safety."

He continued in the same breath. "I mean, even if I had been able to kill him without harming the humans, who can say whether he would still have come back or not? I knew when I spared his life that he would wait to return, I just never imagined he'd actually grow strong enough. You're sure no state has declared secession?"

"No...not even one." She grimaced. "Where could he be getting his power?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know, I doubt that the descendants of the original secessionists have enough numbers to bring him back."

Ivan decided it was time to say something. "Alfred, how strong is the population of far-right religious humans?"

Alfred shot him a curious look. "The evangelists? Good question. They don't make up a majority of the population, but they could certainly have something to do with Avery's appearance."

"Why do you ask, Mr. Russia?" Madison said, eyes sharpening.

"In some countries, a faction of religious followers have shaped the entire nation. The best example I can think of is how, during the time of Rome, the budding Christian movement brought Rome's grandsons, North and South Italy, to the fore rather than Rome."

"Ivan, that's one isolated example," Alfred said. "Is there anything else?"

"England discovered you due to groups of Britons leaving their home island in an attempt for religious freedom." He tapped his foot in thought. "In my own history, I was vastly changed by Orthodox Christians settling in my territory and converting most of my people from the ancient ways."

"Sometimes I forget how old and creaky you are." Alfred winked at Ivan's glare. "It's not a bad thing! I never would've thought of the religious humans being the power source."

"I'm sorry," interrupted Madison, "I don't like where this is going one bit. We can't blame a religious group for Avery's return, that goes so far against the Constitution I don't even want to think about it."

Alfred nodded. "That was formed on a basis of complete religious tolerance, true."

"But it gives us a place to start, da?" Ivan placed a hand gently on Alfred's shoulder. "What of census results? We could see how much of your human population is likely to support Avery, as well as their locations."

"The last census was only five years ago," Alfred said, instinctively leaning into Ivan's hand. "It would be a gold mine of info."

"I still think this is strange," Madison frowned. "Why not set up a meeting between you two, Alfred?"

"Nyet," growled Ivan. "The last time they were alone together was the last time that _thing_ tried to kill him." He emphasised the impersonal designation, making it clear just how little he thought of Avery.

Alfred clapped a hand over Ivan's. "Ow. Leggo." Ivan released Alfred, snarling slightly. "Look, Vanya, I don't want to be alone with him any more than you."

"But you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

"Well...no." Ivan raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What I mean is..well..."Alfred's eyes dulled a shade. "In any other situation i would set up a meeting in Switzerland's place where we couldn't do any harm to each other without Switzy shooting at us, but I don't think he can leave the physical land yet."

"Что?"

"I think if he could, he would've tried to get at me in your territory. It'd be like him to think that someone with borders as big as yours might let something slip through."

"Боже мой, вы серьезно."

"Ivan, you're speaking Russian."

"Да, и? _Это_ мой родной язык."

"Ivan. Vanya. C'mon."

Ivan sighed and switched back to English. "If I must."

"Yeah, you must."

"говно."

"Okay, I know what that means."

"Hmph." He clenched a fist. "I'm concerned about what you're planning."

Madison's grey eyes flicked from one nation to the other. "This is going to seem out of place..." Two blond heads, one lighter in color, turned to her. "...can nations have children?"

Ivan began to chuckle as Alfred looked confused. "Uh, what?"

"Could you two ever have a child?"

"Oh..._Боже мой..._" Ivan's laughter grew. "Why on _Earth _would you ask something like that?"

"I was simply thinking how frightening it would be for Russia and America to create a new country."

Ivan smiled. "No, we can't make another country. I don't think any nation pair has had children since the time of Graecia, Aegyptus and Rome." His names for the ancient empires got him a curious look from Alfred.

"Well, yeah and it'd be like...biologically impossible. I think."

"Alfred, unless you're hiding a womb in your abdomen we are _not _having children." He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "We're both male. We don't have enough space on the planet for more nations, and just the fact that we aren't human doesn't mean we can suddenly make two males have a baby. Graecia and Aegyptus were both female." He breathed a heavy sigh. "Though I suppose if Alfred's states had personifications we would have at least one child."

Alfred didn't miss _that_ reference. "Hey, Alaska was _not _a deal sealed with sex, moron, I bought that land! And Hawaii and Texas have personifications!"

"That's because they both used to be their own countries, Alfred, and yes I _know_ how you got Alaska." Ivan suppressed another chuckle. "I did sell the land freely."

Madison groaned. "I'm glad I'm such a source of entertainment. Can we _move on_?"

"Yeah, hey, you brought up babies and set him off!" Alfred whined slightly as he began poking a still-chuckling Ivan.

"I'm sorry, it was just too funny for me to pass up, da."

"Okay, great. Wonderful. I need to get in contact with my evil half."

"He didn't leave any information-"

"Don't need it." Alfred shut his eyes. Ivan got out of his chair.

"I hate this." He backed up to the other end of the room. "Alfred, just wait for him to show himself."

"No time, Vanya, sorry."

Madison joined Ivan at the other end of the office. "What is he doing?"

"It's a form of telepathic communication. Nations technically connected by blood can do it. In Alfred's case only Canada and, I suppose, Avery, can hear him. I'm not sure about Mexico." He kept his voice low.

"Telepathic connection?"

"I have it with my sisters, Ukraine and Belarus. All we can really do is let one another know we need to speak with them. Alfred's gift with it is much stronger, he's had whole conversations with Canada like this before."

"Why did you back up over here?"

"Since we're strongly connected emotionally, my mental frequency could disrupt his, at least according to China. _He _can do this with Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Taiwan, Thailand and most of the other Asian nations."

"Why is your version of this...thing...so weak?"

Ivan looked annoyed at that. "I was separated from my sisters for most of our formative years. We were never taught to use it properly, like Alfred and Canada were. France and England can't hear each other like this, but apparently England and one of the Nordics, Denmark I think, have a very strong connection."

"I see...and why isn't this used more often?"

"It takes a great strain to produce." Ivan sighed. "I've only ever seen China do it without problems later, but he's thousands of years older."

"What does it do to Alfred?"

"All I can say is expect that the stocks drop a few points. Other than that I have no idea, he avoids using it like it's a plague."

"Then why now?"

He groaned. "We have no other way to contact Avery." His lip curled as if he'd tasted something nasty. "This is a surefire way to tell that Southern bastard that Alfred wants to talk, da."

Alfred's fingers massaged his temples throughout their whole conversation. He could feel the curious, cautious mind of Canada in the north, but turned his attention south. Shit, too far. His head was full of Mexico calling him a _puta_ again. S_orry, not tryin' to fight, _he thought, switching his attention again.

A black wall of anger hit his mind. Outwardly, he jerked slightly and released a tiny groan, but inside his mind he was curled up in pain.

_Ow! Bastard, I'm just trying to find you! Don't go ripping my head off!_

A darker mental tone rippled through Alfred's mind.

_What d'ya want now, Yankee?_

He continued massaging his forehead. _Set up a meeting. Somewhere neutral. _

_Ya think I'm falling into that pathetic trap?_

A sigh escaped him. _I__t's not a trap. We can't lie to each other this way, I swear. It would just be Russia and I._

At the mention of Russia, the black wall grew spines. _Keep that bear-bodied piece of frozen waste in his tundra. I won't go near him._

_Afraid?_ Alfred mocked.

_Never. _

_Then you shouldn't have a problem with him. _

_And who,_ Avery questioned, _Who may I bring to ensure fairness? __  
><em>

_I don't know, but I'm true to my word. _Oh how his head ached..._Ivan won't attack. _

_Oh, it's _Ivan _now? On first-name terms with the Russian bastard, are we?_

I _am, _he thought, _but you will _never_ be. He knows your name, but to your face he'll always say 'the Confe__deracy'. Or just 'him', though personally I like when he calls you a 'thing'._

Avery broke the contact with a parting barb. _We'll meet at your California house in two week's time. Perhaps your frozen Russian meat will melt and rot by the time I arrive._

Alfred gave a shout and collapsed, crumpling to the floor of the Oval Office. Ivan got there first, scooping the smaller man into his arms. Secret Service swarmed the office, and it took Ivan's massive size and power to clear enough space to lay Alfred out. He looked fine, just a bit pale and sweaty, though he had a nasty green tinge around the mouth. Ivan sighed and shook his head.

"I told him not to do it. Молодой дурак." The Russian supported Alfred's head. "Someone get me water." He unwound his scarf and piled it in a makeshift pillow under Alfred's head. The multitude of puckered pink-and-white scars on his neck were visible in the light, but no one was paying attention to how he looked.

"Alfred, герой, wake up." His voice was gentle, and his hands massaged Alfred's shoulders gently. "Come now, герой мой, wake up, da?" Alfred stirred weakly.

"Water." He trickled the water into Alfred's mouth. Alfred licked up the water, snorted and opened his eyes.

"Shi-iit I have a _massive _hangover..."

"Idiot. I told you not to use that particular trick."

"Shaddup..." Alfred didn't seem much in the mood to argue. He pulled Ivan down for a kiss rather hungrily, eagerly kissing the Russian until Madison coughed.

"You two realize you're in front of a good deal of people, don't you?"

Ivan broke the kiss, breathing slightly accelerated. "I'm sorry, he always gets like this..."

"Like what, h-" America cut her off with a slight moan.

"Mmm, Ivaaan, m'hungover n' horny..."

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think I'll take him back to the house in DC for now."

Thankfully he didn't need an escort to leave. "I'll let you know what he learned when he's coherent again, da." Ivan carried Alfred to the car-he carried his scarf as well as his lover. Alfred took advantage of him and began kissing and nipping the old scars on Ivan's neck.

"Fredka, whatever you learned had better be good," Ivan said as they entered the car.

He did have a fun-filled night ahead, though...

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I wanna apologize. A combination of school issues (end of Junior year...) and writer's block stopped me from putting this out. I created the mental contact thing as a helpful story aid, so please don't kill me over it. We can assume a lot about how nations might differ from humans. **

**When I mentioned Chechnya, I say Ivan killed the country of Chechnya because, technically, Russia ate up a bunch of smaller nations, and Chechnya is one of them. It was transformed into a semi-autonomous region of Russia, just like multiple other countries, but it's essentially a state.  
><strong>

**Translations  
><strong>

**Боже мой, вы серьезно-My God, you're serious  
><strong>

**Да, и? _Это_ мой родной язык-Yes, and? It _is _my native language  
><strong>

****говно-Shit****

**Молодой дурак-Young fool (Young in the sense that, compared to Ivan, Alfred is really young)  
><strong>

**герой-Hero :)  
><strong>

**Puta-Spanish for whore  
><strong>

**Thank you for waiting!  
><strong>


End file.
